Death Angel chapter two
by LisaReneeJones
Summary: Amber Brown is a twenty-seven-year-old attorney about to find out that her life is not what it seems. The readers will take a roller-coaster ride of passion and danger with Amber as she fights to save the world from her destiny as its destroyer.


Chapter Two

I jerked to a sitting position with a gasp to find myself in the back of a parked ambulance with the doors standing open. "What happened? What happened?" The answer came in a rush of memory. Gun. Shooter. Jeremy. "Easy," a female paramedic urged. "You hit your head pretty good there."

I touched my forehead, feeling the golf ball sized lump there, remembering the moment I'd hit the pavement. Remembering Jeremy. I grabbed the woman's arm. "Jeremy. My client. Where is my client? Is he alive? Was he shot?"

The woman looked baffled. "I don't know who Jeremy is but outside of the one male police officer who was shot apprehending the shooter, no one else was injured. I'm thanking God the man didn't open fire on the crowd and that you hit the ground in time to miss the bullets."

"Jeremy was the man he was shooting at," I told her, sitting up, smoothing my hand over the huge rip in my hose exposed by my hiked up skirt. "He was the one who came down on top of me."

The woman blinked. "I'm sorry. I wasn't here when everything took place. I was told the shooter was targeting you. If you'll lie down, I'll see if I can get a police officer to find this Jeremy for you."

"I have to find him," I said, pushing to my feet, unwilling to sit here while Jeremy got away. "Ms. Brown," the EMT said. "I'm certain you have a concussion and the shooter is in custody. Whoever this Jeremy is, he isn't in any further danger."

"You don't understand," I murmured, pressing a hand to the wall and fighting the nausea rolling over me. I had to get out of this truck.

"Amber!" Derek exclaimed, appearing at the end of the open door looking all James Bond sleek in his black suit and pressed white dress shirt. He's tall, broad and strong and relief bled into panic at the sight of him. I so needed strong right now.

"Derek!" I flung myself into his arms and he dragged me off of the vehicle and against him, holding me with my feet dangling in the air. "God, Amber, I was worried sick. I can't believe this happened." He leaned back to look at me, letting my feet settle onto the ground, still holding me close. I didn't want him to let me go. I needed a friend, even if I didn't dare make him a confidant for fear I'd sound insane.

"Your parents are freaking out," he added. "They're trying to get a flight back out of Europe."

"No," I said instantly, flattening my hand on the solid wall of his chest. "I can't deal with my father acting worried and then telling me that getting shot at was worth the recognition this trial would give me. I can't deal with that right now." And I knew all too well that my retired school teacher of a mother, who despite loving me, would always agree with my father. "Please call them and tell them to finish their business in Italy. Derek I have to - "

"Sir," the EMT said to Derek form behind me. "I really must insist Ms. Brown sit down. She has a head injury."

Derek cursed under his breath. "Sorry," he said, and set me on the ledge of the truck, his hands sliding down my hair, his winter green eyes inspecting my injury. "Your head. Ouch." He glanced at the EMT. "How bad is it?"

"It's not that bad," I insisted before the EMT said otherwise, and I knew she would. "I have to find Jeremy." I tried to get up and he held me steady.

"Jeremy is fine," Derek insisted. "The shooter's in custody and he wasn't after Jeremy anyway. That lunatic was all about killing you and you alone. And you can bet your pretty little backside I won't be letting him out on bail. You have nothing to worry about."

"Me?" I asked confused, recalling the EMTS's similar statement with an icy chill of dread paralyzing my breathing for a sliver of a moment that made speaking difficult. "He … he was trying to shoot me?" I swallowed hard then added flatly, "Because I'm Jeremy's attorney." Because I am to blame for setting him free.

"Because the guy's a nut job. He was screaming about you being a monster or a demon of some sort. You know the type. Completely out of touch with reality."

I thought of the shooter, of the hatred in the vicious glare he'd aimed at Jeremy. Only he'd not been looking at Jeremy. I was the shooter's 'monster'. It felt far too accurate an assessment right about now.


End file.
